


In the Matters of Nobility

by cartoonsandcats



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel), the arcana
Genre: A lot of guessing facts, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Multi, Politics, Romance, Sexual Tension, but lots of set up first, eventual smooching, mostly - Freeform, political manipulation, pre-game shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonsandcats/pseuds/cartoonsandcats
Summary: When a young duchess gets word that her provinces are being dissolved into Vesuvia’s new Count’s land, she immediately travels to his palace to negotiate. But, as her stay prolongs in Vesuvia, she realises there is a much darker world hidden under the city’s colourful hues, urging her to uncover their secrets and in her path meets a magician, a princess, and a doctor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this is totally self indulgent, let’s get that out of the way. This will basically be a bunch of pre-game stories about my apprentice and her meetings with the main characters. This first chapter is a lot of set up, but idk it’s kind of relevant. Also DISCLAIMER, Mary reads tarot cards in this and I tried to mimic what they do in the game, without prior knowledge of tarot cards. I also tried to keep as close to cannon as possible but I didnt feel like rereading chapters so there might be a few plot holes when you look at the main game, but I TRIED. Last, but not least, I’m not a super great writer and this is the first time in years I’ve published anything so if you guys have any constructive criticism about the style I’m all ears.

Vesuvia was different than what Mary was used to. Unlike the country side north of the city, where one could go for miles without spotting a person, Vesuvia was packed tightly onto tiny streets. RPersonal space was obviously not an issue for the natives. She bumped through people like a pin ball machine. Mary had tried to apologise, but nobody really seemed to care. You could feel the heat radiating off from person to person, which aided the dry sun's warmth blaring down. Merchants with spices and scarfs lined the sides; practically pushing products into her hand.  
Despite the culture-shock, Mary couldn't say she disliked the bustling streets. Scents of fresh bread and exotic perfumes filled the air and the people were, in fact, friendly when she needed help. The colours were magnificent too. Vibrant reds, purples, and golds filled shops and teased the eye. Nothing like the cool greys and greens of the countryside. She hoped she would truly have time to explore the city at a later date.  
But, in the moment, she was on a mission. Her carriage had driven her to the edge of the city and forced her get out. "That's what your Ms. Salvend told me to do," the driver had said. Of course her tutor had one more way of making this trip miserable.  
First, they had broken the news that the new Count had decided to dissolve her family's land into his own. Second, being the heiress, her staff decided it would be advantageous for her to negotiate with the new count so she could create ties with him. Third, her tutor had the wonderful idea of sending her alone as some kind of test. And now she was thrown out of the street with nothing but a bag and a charmed map.  
She was to stay with her aunt. A humble magician with a street shop who had left her sister's high society life. Mary was excited, to say the least. Her aunt had always been somewhat of an idol to her, even though she had never met the woman. The fact that her aunt had left life of a duchess to pursue her passion was comforting, in a way. Perhaps, Mary had always hoped she would be able to do the same. She had always been more fond of the practice of magic than ruling over land. But, as her parent's only heir, she felt an obligation to fulfil this destiny.  
She unwound the enchanted parchment she had been clutching with her right hand, with the whisper of a charm leaving her lips, the map's glowing path awakened, leading her downtown. She rushed to the shaded sidewalk and stuck her nose in the small street names written to guide her.  
She continued that way for at least three blocks, but finally pulled out of the page when she caught the aroma of something heavenly. The smell led her to a covered bakery, complete with sets of chairs and tables. She rushed towards the main counter, and a smiling man greeted her.  
"Sir, what are you selling that smells so absolutely delicious?"  
The baker chuckled, "I'm guessing that would be our signature spiced bread, I just took some out of the oven, would you like a loaf?"  
"Yes, please." Mary began reaching for her coin bag tied around her waist, which would have been a scandal at home. The first thing she noticed in Vesuvia were the very different clothing trends. While many noblewomen of the North strictly wore dresses and many layers to fight of the chill, Vesuvian women seemed to be much more willing to experiment. A week prior to her trip, her tutor had ordered her clothing from popular designers in the area, and her expression was beyond appalled when they arrived. The cloths were loose fitting, mostly cotton or other breathable fabrics. Bottoms varied from pants to skirts and often had belts and pockets along with them. All of them made Mary ecstatic.  
"M-Mariam?" A voice caught her attention from behind her. "Mariam!" It called again. The baker still being in the kitchen, Mary turned her head to find the person speaking her birth name. She was met with an older woman, with dark blue eyes, similar to Mary's own, and greying chestnut brown hair.  
"Aunt Thora!" Mary broke into a grin and rushed to greet her relative. The older woman opened her arms and swept Mary into a hug.  
"Oh it's so good to finally meet you, Mariam." The woman looked on her with familiar eyes, studying her features with a look of nostalgia.  
"Mary will be fine, Aunt Thora." Mary looked back at her with the same look. She resembled what little Mary could remember of her mother, and of herself. All of the females in her family shared the same eye colour, even gaining the colour the nickname 'olsen blue' among the peasants in surrounding areas.  
"And Thora will be fine, Mary." The woman laughed. "You look so much like your mother," she said, still smiling. "And me, to be frank."  
"Uh, ma'am?" The baker called from behind the counter, a loaf of bread wrapped in hand.  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Mary rushed back over to him. "How much do I owe you?"  
"No, I'll pay for it." Thora squeezed Mary's shoulder. "You have a good eye, coming here. This place has the best bread in all of Vesuvia." She handed the baker four gold coins and the man laughed. "We do try. Come again soon!" He called as Thora linked arms with Mary and pulled her away from the shoppe.  
"Now, last time I was told, you had quite an affinity for magic." The woman asked.  
"I-yes, I do." Mary answered, taking in the colours of the downtown.  
"Then you'll love the shop. I have everything a young magician like yourself needs. Plus, some very attractive costumers who would love to meet you."  
"Well, if Salvend has her way, I'll probably end up marrying the new Count." Mary grumbled.  
"Salvend? She's still alive? In Arcana's name, I thought she stopped tutoring ages ago. Or died trying." Thora laughed. "Don't listen to her, now that I personally know you I won't let you marry that horrid man."  
Mary's stomach dropped. "Is he really that terrible?"  
Thora stopped and turned to her. "Oh-uh, oh dear, I forgot you were meeting with him." The woman shifted eyes. "Well, I'm sure you'll be fine, you've been learning how to negotiate since you were a child. But, ah, yes, Count Lucio is not what I would call a noble man."  
"How so?"  
"Well, it seems his main concern is his lavish lifestyle, rather than Vesuvia's people. He's been making some very questionable renovations to the palace, and rumour has it that he's been spending the people's taxes on parties for him and the rest of Vesuvia's nobility. And- oh I'm so sorry dear, I don't mean to scare you."  
"Do you think he'll give us our provinces back?"  
"I... I'm not sure, Mary. But I know things will work out, they always do."  
Mary's fear settled in her stomach. Her position was the only attachment she had left to her parents, her only tether to their memory.  
"But, either way, we have two days before your meeting and we're at the shop. So let's let our worries calm at least for the night."  
The cobbled steps led up to a dark purple wooden door. A sigh swung back and forth, showing a cauldron, the typical symbol for a magic shop.  
"Now, I'm sure this isn't the lifestyle your used to, but I promise you'll be comfortable." Thora pushed the heavy door open, leading into the shop, bells tinkling as she entered. A glass counter, filled with amulets and enchanted items, stretched across the far side of the room. Behind it, drawers and shelves holding colourful potions, herbs, and animal skulls lined the walls. Pink fabric decorated the ceiling, hanging low and created a softer space. The sweet burning aroma of magic hung in the somewhat stale air, creating an even more mystical experience.   
Thora lead her to a smaller room behind the counter, "Do you read?" She asked.  
"Tarot cards? Yes, I do." Mary peaked into the room. It was covered in blankets and pillows, trying to hide the stone wall. A stained glass window let a small amount of light deep in, and a low hanging lantern provided a soft green light. A long rounded table sat low in the middle of it, but the sparkling ball in the middle took up a portion of its space.  
"I've always preferred a crystal ball, myself. But some younger students come back here to use the tarot deck. Your generation seems to prefer it."  
"Do you teach magic?" Mary asked, still in awe of her surroundings.  
"If a young person comes in curious, I'll point them in the right direction. We carry a large selection of books for beginners." A moment of silence. Mary could feel her attachment grow to this place. This felt like home.  
"May I see your skill?" Thora asked, tentatively.  
"Yeah, I would love to." Mary pulled off the backpack strapped to her back and pulled out a brittle deck from a pocket. Thora reached out in question to see the deck, and Mary gladly complied.  
"These were your father's weren't they?"  
Mary nodded.  
"Beautifully illustrated deck. A wonderful representation of the Arcana. I remember him entertaining guests with these several times." She slowly flipped over the Magician's card in her hand. A fox headed figure looked up at Mary through the image. Thora handed the cards back to her and gestures to sit down.  
Mary took her time shuffling the deck, feeling the power through each one, letting them speak to her. With a breath, she cut the deck and chose her stack. Setting the others aside, she spread the remaining cards out in front of her and ran the tips of her fingers over the ragged surface. When she felt a draw to one, or a change in temperature or presence, she pulled a card out until there were three in her hand. She pushed the rest aside and flipped the first card over.  
"The Moon, reversed."  
"What are they saying to you?"  
Words that were not her's spoke through her:  
"You are not ready to face what is to come. Uncover your true desires or face your demise."  
Silence hung in the air as Mary came back into herself.  
"Hm," She slowly got up from her spot. "Nice and cheery, as always."  
"You're a powerful magician, Mary. I don't meet many your age who can achieve a connection with an Arcana that easily."  
Mary's heart felt heavy in her chest. It wasn't often the Arcana spoke so clearly to her, much less aloud.  
"A shame you don't have a career in the magic arts." Thora offered her hand to Mary, who remained seated on the floor.  
"I wish I could," Mary huffed and took her hand.  
"You don't to be duchess?" Thora blinked in surprise. Mary recoiled at her question, not meaning to let her distaste for ruling show.  
Thora laughed at her expression. "It's ok to not want to, dear. Why, I didn't want to. Would you like some tea?"  
Mary nodded, "I wish I could be like you. Just- leave and never look back."  
"But you're scared to." Thora guided her to a kitchen off behind a door of the main shop. "Because your the only Olsen left in nobility."  
"Is it that easy to guess?" Mary collapsed in a wooden chair next to a breakfast table, while Thora reached towards a small metal box on the top shelf.  
"It's easy for me to guess, it seems we're more similar than I first thought." She grabbed a clay pot, pinched her fingers over it and a stream of water slowing filled the pot from the tips of her hand.  
"You can materialise water?" Mary leaned forward in her seat.  
"Yes, it's not as hard as most books would lead you to believe. The skill just takes a little patience, but back to the point."  
Thora flicked a wisp of flame onto the burner and sat the filled pot onto. "I know I could just heat the water with magic," she admitted. "But I must admit I enjoy the ritual of boiling it on the stove."  
Controlling the flame to a small simmer, she turned and sat in the wooden chair perpendicular to Mary's own.  
Thora took her hands in her own. Her fingers were long and soft, but portrayed obvious signs of age. Ice blue eyes met her own and Thora spoke without an inch of jest.  
"Mary, you are in control of your own destiny."  
The girl scoffed and began to turn away, Thora pulled her to face the older woman again.  
"I'm serious. Thirty years ago I was feeling exactly what you're feeling. Hell, I was the eldest child, I was the one in line for the title, my little sister was never expected to rule. But one day I woke up, and realised that staying in that cold, dark palace was the farthest thing from life I wanted. And I left. It was the hardest and most rewarding decision of my entire life. And, if you really want to, you can always do the same. Nobility is not a set lifestyle."  
"I-" Mary stared at her feet. It would be so easy to drop it all. She was thousands of miles away from home anyway, it would be simple to drop off the radar. Stay here, study magic, maybe even take over the shop in Thora's old age.  
No. No, no, no. Her title is her legacy. Her title and rule is the only connection she had to her parents. She was the only one who could take on the burden of duchess.  
"I-no, I have to be duchess." Mary gave a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. "There's not another lifestyle I could get used to. Why, how could anyone expect me to live in a place like this?"  
The words stung, and made Mary's chest ache. An obvious lie, and Thora knew it. Although Mary's defensiveness still took the woman aback. Thora pressed her lips into a thin line. She rose from her chair and went towards the stove. Carefully, she took the pot off the burner and poured a scoop of dried herbs into it.  
"The moon is rising." Thora spoke without emotion, the glow of the stained glass above her head highlighting the silver in her hair. "It might be best for you to just go to sleep. Up the stairs, second door on the right. Sleep well, dear. I'll bring up the tea in a few minutes."  
"Aunt Thora, I-" Mary began.  
"Didn't I tell you?" Thora added more warmth into her voice, reassuring Mary that all was well. "Just Thora will be fine."  
With nothing left to say, Mary shut her mouth and walked carefully towards the steps.  
"Goodnight, Thora."  
"Goodnight, Mary." The woman didn't take her eyes of the pot, stirring the herbs. Mary nodded and turned into the hallway leading upward. After five steps, Thora sighed and mumbled under her breath, "She needs to learn to listen when the cards speak."  
Mary continued up the stairs.


	2. Chapter Two

A servant led the young duchess down a long, winding hallway. The palace was absolutely stunning, and very much reflected the artwork rest of the city. Though, it seemed the Count had decided to do some reconstruction to the interior design. Simple tapestries and embellishments were being removed from the walls and replaced with more elaborate and rich patterns. Count Lucio obviously took great pride in his wealth. As their footsteps echoed down the hallway, she also noticed all paintings containing past counts were being exchanged with grand portraits of the current ruler. It seemed the man also took pride in himself, and Mary prayed his vanity would not get in the way of their meeting.   
"No-no, that's not what I wanted." A voice boomed from a room farther down the hall. It had a terrifying presence. Regal and deep and rich. She was from one of the wealthiest families in the country and even she felt an intimidation from this unknown man.   
"But sir-!" A brave voice countered.   
"No, take it down. I hate it. It's cheap."  
The brave servant quivered again. "These are traditional Vesuvian tapestries, they-"  
"I don't care. Burn them for god's sake, just get them out of my sight."  
"Yes, my Lord."  
The servant hurried out of the doorway where Mary was approaching. The servant was a small thing. Feathery brown hair tied up haphazardly along with delicate and quite bony figure. Bird-like. She carried a bundle of intricately embroidered fabric. The woman shook when she saw the two newcomers and touched the shoulder of the servant next to Mary.   
"Be careful, 'Mitri, he's in a bad mood."   
She scurried off down the hallway and the man sighed. He flicked his eyes toward Mary, as if this was her fault. Then, cut in front of the young duchess into the dining room.   
"Count Lucio," servant started.   
"What?" The voice growled from the other end. Mary slowly entered the room and peaked at the man she had been so nervous to meet.  
"You have a visitor."  
The Count whipped his head around and sneered. Mary's eyes widened. She suddenly knew why the man was full of such vanity. He was beautiful, even with the unpleasant look he gave her. Golden hair pushed away from his structured face and high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut. Finished off with a perfectly pale complexion. Thin, light grey eyes narrowed when he saw the girl. "I did not call for a courtesan-"   
"My lord!" The servant’s voice overtook the count's, no doubt in an effort to mask his offensive accusation. It didn't work.   
"May I introduce the Duchess of the Northern Provinces, Mariam Olsen."  
"Mary, please." She gave a tight smile. This was customary. Rehearsed. She could do this part. "It's a pleasure, Count Lucio."   
Mary walked over to greet the man, with the posture and poise she had studied since she was a child. She offered her hand. He did not so much as look at it. Instead, he turned his head toward the servant. With another sneer he spoke, "This is the Duchess?"   
Dmitri, looking very uncomfortable, nodded. The Count scoffed. "She's practically a child."  
Mary bristled. The man only looked her senior by at most a decade. But, she countered, looks can be deceiving.   
"My lord," she spoke as gently as possible. "I assure you, I am very worthy of my position. Now, if I may discuss-"  
"No wonder I'm taking over their land." He chuckled, still not acknowledging the girl.   
"Count Lucio," Mary said with more venom in her voice. This made the man turn. "If my age is such a concern to you, I might ask why I am not old enough to be a duchess, but possess enough years to be mistaken for a courtesan?"  
The man blinked and tried to form an argument; offended that he didn't have the upper hand.  
"Now that I have your attention," Mary smiled and switched to a gentler tone. She had rehearsed these words a hundred time. "I would like discuss the news I received two weeks ago informing my staff and myself that my land was being removed from my care. Now, I am aware you are currently planning a celebration of some sort, but if I could just have a half hour of your time to negotiate-"  
"You're the witch family, correct?" The Count interrupted. He strutted over to a cart filled with bottles and glass tumblers and flutes. He grabbed a bottle that looked like a rich whiskey and poured himself a glass.   
Mary blinked. "I-if by witch you mean my family practices magic, then yes we consider ourselves magicians-"  
"Then you read tarot cards, yes?"   
"Uh, I-yes. Yes, I do."  
"Entertain me, then. Read my fortune." The count took a long sip of the Amber liquid, keeping his eyes on Mary.   
Mary spluttered. What a egotistical, self-centred, pompous-  
"Count Lucio, as much as I appreciate your interest in my craft, I don't have my cards with me and it is imperative we discuss-"   
"I'll send for them. Where are you staying?"  
She was sick of him. Sick of being in this gaudy palace. Sick of dealing with people like this.   
"My aunt's shop. In the marketplace." She said quietly, her resolve cracking.  
"Dmitri, send for the girl's tarot cards."  
Not the duchess. Not even the magician. The girl.  
With a flick of the Count's wrist, Dmitri scurried our of the room. Mary twiddled her fingers.   
"Now tell me, why is a duchess staying in a peasant marketplace?" He poured more alcohol into his glass.   
"Well, my aunt owns a magic shop in the area, she lost touch with the family when she moved into the city. I'm trying to mend ties. Actually, she-"  
"No, no, no that won't do." He interrupted.   
"W-what won't do?" She asked nervously.   
"I can't be seen associating with someone traveling to and from the slums."  
"Slum is a little harsh-"  
"I'll arrange a room for you at the palace."  
"Count Lucio, that is far from necessary-"   
"No, no I insist. I have an image to uphold."  
"No, please, I insist. It wouldn't be worth the trouble, I'm only staying for a few days-"  
"You're not attending my masquerade?"   
"I- well- uh- haven't particularly thought about it. I came on strictly business."  
"My god, what stick in the mud." He groaned as he flopped himself across a love seat. Tentatively, she pulled a dining chair to sit across from him.   
"Perhaps I would be more playful if you could guarantee my land's safety." She started. "What in the world are you planning on doing with it that I am not already doing?"  
"I'm going to dissolve the towns and sell the land to the highest bidder."  
"What?" Mary gave him an appalled look.   
"It will take a bit of time, maybe two years at most, but the profits will be phenomenal." He took a sip of his drink.   
"Count Lucio, that's ridiculous. Hundreds of people live those towns, t-to kick them out would be cruel."   
Mary had assumed she was being removed from her position in favour of someone the Count would appoint. But destroying homes, kicking people out of their homes, kicking her out of her home was worse than she could have imagined.  
"It's simple business." He shrugged.  
"'Simple Business'? How would you know? You weren't even born into-" Mary's voice faltered as the Count stiffened and flicked his cold eyes to her.   
"Born into what?" His voice was deeper, threatening. "Into the aristocracy? Into a world full of silver spoons and platters? Do tell, dear, how much better your upbringing was than mine."  
Mary set her jaw. She hadn't meant to upset him. Her whole purpose here was to make him like her. To change his mind. She wasn't supposed to make him angry, no matter her initial dislike towards him.  
"I apologise, my lord, that was uncalled for." She forced the words out. This thief, this imposter believed he belonged here. He forced his way here in a way Mary wished she could force her way out. But she must save her land, her birthright.   
The Count made a grunt of distaste. He looked at her from the corner of his eye and took a sip of his drink, as if he expected more.  
She was here to please. To mend. To save. Not to give this asshole a black eye.   
"I believe you're perfectly capable of your position," a lie, "and I didn't mean to insinuate otherwise. I'm apologise." She kept her eyes on her feet.   
Mary hated this. Having to appease this man. Someone considered her superior since the moment she was born.   
You must have a healthy relationship with The Count, Mariam.   
They are the reason we have such an honourable position in society.   
Do whatever it takes to keep them happy.   
Count Lucio hummed again, less angry and more intrigued. He cocked his head and gracefully removed himself from his seat.   
Mary could see his boots his front of her as he stopped. A metallic arm gently took hold of her chin, lifting it to meet the man's grey eyes. He chuckled.  
"You know, you're actually quite appealing when you're watching your mouth."  
Mary gulped at the closeness and she bit her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret.   
The mechanical appendage ran its cold fingers down her cheek. Lord, what was he planning to do with her?  
"Stay here until the masquerade. Then we will discuss your rule."   
Mary gently nudged his hand away from her face, and let out a sigh of relief.   
"I appreciate your consideration, my lord." She attempted to give him a soft smile, a silent plead to remain considerate.  
He turned away and hummed, grabbing another bottle on the cart, this one looking to be a fine wine. He picked up a different glass, one that sparkled like crystal.   
Mary stared at the blood red liquid, nearly infatuated with its smoothness as it filled the bowl of the glass. Count Lucio caught her gaze as he twisted his head.   
"What, would you like some?" He didn't seem pleased with the thought of offering the beverage.   
"No, thank you, I don't drink." She had been told it was unladylike for most of her childhood. 'The Devil's Liquid', her tutor had called it.   
Lucio scoffed. "You don't drink, or you never have? There is a difference."  
"I-no, I've never had any."   
Lucio made a noise as he took another glass of the cart, and poured a second glass of the wine. His cape ruffled as he spun around, "What's the point of nobility if you can't reap its benefits?"   
He held out the glass to her, and she took it from his hands.   
"Careful now, this is the finest wine in all of Vesuvia. Don't spill it."   
Mary stared at the liquid, slowly swirling the glass, watching the wine role around like an ocean at sunset.   
"It looks like blood." She decided, scrunching her nose as it caught wind of its fragrance.   
"The special ingredient." Lucio winked and collapsed on the velvet love seat.   
Horrified, Mary widened her eyes in question.   
"A jest, darling. It's only grapes."  
She let out a breath and took a sip. It didn't taste good, the only thing her palette picked up was the strong sting of alcohol. She recoiled at the taste as she swallowed it, burning as it went down her throat.  
"Not to your taste?" Lucio asked teasingly. "Well I suppose your affinity for alcohol can rely on your upbringing, where did you rule again?"  
'Did'. Past tense.   
"The Northern Provinces," a pause. A search for sign of recognition of the Count's supposed rule. Nothing.  
"I grew up in the countryside by Nörgane ."  
"Mm, yes I'm familiar with the North."  
Mary cocked her head, "How so?"   
"For most of my youth I traveled across the steppes."   
"You traveled across the Northern Steppes?" Mary asked sceptically. "That's very dangerous."  
"Ah, yes, warring tribes and all that mess. They don't hurt too much if you know how to deal with them." Lucio took a sip of the wine.   
"If you know-?"  
"Count Lucio!"  
Dmitri had returned and Mary let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. The servant walked stiffly toward the two nobility and bowed below Mary's seat, holding up her cards.  
"The duchess' cards." Mary tentatively took them out of his hands. She mumbled a thank you under her breath.   
"Oh, yes, finally." Lucio lulled. "Something interesting."   
The servant stood up and dusted him slacks.   
"Prepare a room for the duchess." The count ordered, waving the man away. "And make sure it's the new part of the palace. We must prove ourselves worthy of this noble Duchess." The words were filled with satire, and he gave the girl a less than pleased look.  
Mary attempted to hide her eye roll as she unboxed her cards.   
"Those are old." Lucio remarked with a flourish as he moved from his lounging position to the chair perpendicular to her own. "Are you sure they still work?"   
"They were my father's." Mary kept her eyes on the cards, shuffling them as she had done a hundred time before. "And yes, I'm quite sure they work. The cards themselves are not magic, I use them to channel my own."  
"Pick." She said coldly as she cut the deck. Lucio places a long manicured finger on the left stack. Mary spread the cards of that stack and urged him to pick three, paying close attention to the ones that have a change in temperature or energy. He chose three with hesitation. And then chose one.   
"The Devil," fitting, "upright."  
Lucio turned the corner of his mouth upward, in a confident smirk.   
"My favourite." He said proudly. "Pray tell, what is he saying to me?"  
Mary placed her hand lightly on the card and closed her eyes, urging the Baphomet to speak to her. For two seconds, she could hear nothing.   
Then, like a wave, the Devil's words came crashing down on her mind, every tongue she had ever, and never, heard of. She instantly recoiled with the strength of the connection, but the card wasn't done with his message yet.   
Mary's breathing became laboured, all she could see was red. Red, red.   
"Think," A voice spoke through her. "What you have done. What you will do. You will bathe in greatness if-"   
The Arcana's words ceased as Mary gasped for breath. She was choking. She was choking. But the Devil wouldn't loosen her grip on her mind.   
"Find me."  
Mary's eyes shot open, and was met with Lucio's, that were just as wide. But not with fear, as Mary's were, but with hope.  
Mary began shaking. Either from the overuse of magic, or just nerves, she couldn't stop trembling.   
"I-how can-what- what have you done?" She looked up to see into Lucio's eyes. This was not good. This man was involved in some dark magic.   
Lucio rose quickly, not meeting Mary’s urgent gaze.  
“Dmitri!” He yelled, and surprisingly, the servant rushed urgently into the room.   
“Escort the duchess to her room. It seems the wine went to her head too quickly, and she’s seems to be disoriented.”  
With a curt nod, the servant put a gentle hand on Mary’s forearm and forced her towards the door. She did, in fact, feel lightheaded, but she supposed that was from the magic use rather than the wine.   
“No-” she started weakly, forcing the servant to accommodate her twisting as she turned back toward the count. “No, my cards. I need my cards.”  
“I’ll deliver them to you shortly.” Lucio said. He had picked up the Devil card, flipping it steadily in his hands.   
“Let’s go, Miss Olsen.” The servant tugged at her, and with too little strength to fight back, she followed Dmitri out the door.   
And though it pained her to admit it, Mary quite liked being called ‘miss’ rather than ‘lady’.


End file.
